MIA
by Lazurman
Summary: The crew of the UNSC Flame of the Heart and her Spartan captain find themselves stranded in a galaxy that isn't their own. They are now Missing In Action. Eventual pairing between Tali'Zorah and my OC Spartan. Will involve just about every major character/group from Halo. IN FREEZER FOR LONG-TERM STORAGE
1. Its Been An Honor

**_MIA_**

**A/N**

**My first fanfic. My Spartan is MY Spartan; completely OC & AA. Constructive criticism is appreciated. I'll try to keep things as canon related as possible, but this _is _a story of a supersoldier in a different galaxy; things such as little facts tend to be pushed over in the interest of the plot.**

**As suggested by 'forget the rest', I've decided to make some edits to the first chapter. Look carefully in the second chapter as well for more changes.**

**I own nothing but this story, and a few of the characters.**

**Without further adieu, I present to you, Missing In Action.**

**_Spartan-514_**

"Delilah, get these bastards off my six!" The Spartan-II roared, his hands a blur at the ship's helm.

"I'm giving it all she's got captain!" the holographic form of his friend retorted, her blue form visibly annoyed as she struggled to maintain the ship's course. Lines of text scrolled down her form-fitting sweater and jeans. She looked like a typical woman, albeit a very attractive, diminutive, blue one.

The _UNSC Flame of the Heart_ bucked under the Spartan's feet, another plasma torpedo impacting on the ship's shields. He was struggling desperately to keep his ship on target, weaving his way through an asteroid field while simultaneously manually aiming the point defense guns as they picked off the enemy fighters swarming the hull. Spartan-514 was an amazing flyer, having piloted Hornets, Marathon-class cruisers, and everything in between. His impossible reflexes enabled him to perform many tasks usually within the realm of AI control. He had flown in hundreds of engagements as well as dropping in to fight ground battles against supposedly impossible odds; he was losing this fight.

Seven CCS-class battlecruisers were currently doing their best to wipe out the bothersome pilot. He had stolen something very precious to the Covenant in their last engagement. They wanted it back, but not more than they wanted to end the life of the Demon responsible for the death of thousands of their brethren. The Spartan's precious cargo was nestled near the slipspace drive core. He had fought tooth and nail on the ground to recover the damn thing, and now it was going to burn with the rest of the ship.

He had his orders: Find out what the Covenant were looking for on Actium, recover it, and deliver it safely into the hands of ONI personnel. Parts one and two were complete; it was the third that was giving him trouble. He had dropped in quietly, his Mjolnir Mark-VII armor doing its best impersonation of a meteorite hurtling towards the surface. He had crashed down to the surface, his armor-lock unit taking the impact with little difficulty. His covert approach to the main dig site went unobserved, his active-camouflage unit working miraculously. He had entered the heart of the research complex with no alerts to his name. Yet the moment he had touched the Forerunner crystals, all hell had broken loose; alarms blared base-wide, rendering stealth non-existent as the area swarmed with all manner of alien hostiles.

He had raced to the evac point with the aid of a type-32 rapid assault vehicle, or 'Ghost' and the age-old adage of wartime driving: "Don't break for nobody!" The _Flame_ had successfully picked him up, and had immediately made for the relative safety of deep space. The plan was to escape to slipspace and flee from any pursuers. That plan had worked, partially. They had exited slipspace at a random location…with the Covenant already there and waiting for them.

The _Flame of the Heart_ was a masterpiece of human engineering, a repurposed Marathon-class cruiser that boasted state of the art weaponry and experimental shielding on par with a Covenant ship-of-the-line. The shipyard that had constructed her had completely taken apart the old cruiser, using the materials it provided to construct a new frame for her. Instead of being built around the standard two magnetic accelerator cannons, the _Flame_wielded three of the devastating cannons arranged in a triangle formation, each with its own economized fusion reactor, allowing for a much faster charge time. The sheer size of the weapons meant that UNSC ships had to be designed _around_ the guns, instead of simply adding them to the ship. Another clever design permitted multiple shots per charge, resulting in a grand total of _three_ super-dense slugs per full charge per cannon. Nine MAC slugs. It took around three to completely drop an enemy ship's shields. Each gun fired a 600 ton depleted uranium-ferrous slug at speeds of 30,000 meters per second. The hull bristled with Archer missile pods, each of the 300 pods carrying 60 missiles; 18,000 missiles, all meant to screw up an enemy's day as much as possible. For defensive purposes, the 50 mm point defense cannons were more than sufficient, spewing high explosive projectiles at a rapid pace. All of these guns, big and small, paled in comparison of the final set of ordnance, the weapons of last resort: three Shiva-class nuclear missiles.

The triple MAC system and other armaments had helped the _Flame_ immeasurably in the few times it had seen combat, but fighting wasn't the primary purpose of the Spartan's formidable vessel. The large ship was equipped with a tactical cloak as well as a radar baffling hull design. The tremendous size of the deuterium nuclear fusion reactor core made the _Flame_ the fastest ship in the UNSC, with the new slipspace drive design capable of making longer, faster jumps. In short, it was a heavy cruiser that could turn invisible for stealthy operations and could both take and dish out a great deal of punishment. Perfect for a Spartan.

The science behind slipstream space drive cores had seen leaps and bounds since the dawn of the Human-Covenant war, mostly due to the necessity to being able to outrun Covenant ships in the eleventh dimension. The Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine originally allowed ships to travel around two to three light years per day. The new drive system was an expansion of Tobias Shaw's and Wallace Fujikawa's system. Headed by the two leading minds in slipspace theorem, a crack team of specialists, funded extensively by the military and working feverishly day and night for months on end, and fed a healthy amount of data from the few working examples of Covenant FTL technology, managed to produce the next generation in FTL travel: the Halsey-Archibald slipspace drive core. It had jumped the speed of human ships in slipspace up to an unbelievable 800 light-years per day. Though over 400 times faster than the original model, it was still inferior to the Covenant equivalent, which still managed to outpace them by an estimated 100 light-years difference.

This difference meant that in the relatively short time it had taken the _Flame_ to punch a hole in reality and slip through to a new destination, the Covenant had traced them, sending their warships through the wake of the wormhole and to their destination faster than the opener of the portal.

They were waiting for them.

The moment the _Flame_ had exited slipspace, it was set upon by a small battlegroup of seven of the Covenant's finest mainline battleships. The _Flame_ could out-fly any one of them, but the seven of them together were proving that even the UNSC's best ship wasn't infallible. The debris from the asteroid field was doing a fine job of providing cover for the fleeing cruiser, but it was a tricky route. The slightest mistake would leave a crater on the surface of some of the larger asteroids. They needed a miracle.

"Status?" barked the Spartan. He hadn't even had time to change out of his armor before he was needed on the bridge. The golden visor masked his face from the bridge crew, currently scurrying about their duties.

"Shields are holding at 12% sir! We can't take any more of those torpedo hits. Archer pods are nearly depleted, and the material factories are working in overdrive to keep up the supply. The MACs are still cycling for the next salvo. The reactors are all pushed to 200% output, meltdown imminent in two minutes. In short, we're royally screwed unless we find ourselves a miracle." The bad news rattled off from the lips of the ensign.

The captain swore viciously. A miracle was the one thing that they did not have. The _Flame_ was a fine ship, but it was time to embrace the fact that none of them were going to survive. Not even him.

Delilah spoke up, sensors alerting her to a new problem on a growing list. "Captain, the slipspace drive is giving off some strange readings. Something is interacting with the drive core."

She checked the readings, then double checked them, then checked them a third time, all in the space of a microsecond. The evidence was no longer avoidable. "Captain, the drive's activating! We're gonna make a jump and I can't abort the process!"

Overcome with a strong impulse, the Spartan ordered, "Delilah! Prep for transport." The AI complied, storing herself in a data-crystal. The moment the transfer was complete, Captain Spartan-514 slotted her into the waiting port in the back of his helmet. The familiar sharp pain similar to an icicle being driven into his brain was gone momentarily, replaced with a cool, soothing sensation as the AI made her home in the Captain's brain.

"If we don't make it…" she began.

"We'll make it." he assured her.

He could sense her smile. "It's been an honor serving with you Matt."

The timer ran down on his HUD. They were jumping in 5, 4, 3…

He opened the ship-wide emergency comm. "The drive core is malfunctioning! All hands, brace for a jump!"

Those were his final words before his world went dark.


	2. Gut Feelings

**_MIA_**

**I am so glad that my first chapter wasn't a complete failure. This story will focus mainly on Matt-514 and his crew, slowly building up to the events of Mass Effect 1 and beyond. I _really_ don't want to rush this along.**

**Even more edits. Pay attention...**

**I own nothing but this story, and a few of the characters.**

**And now, back to the story.**

**_David Anderson_**

It had been a long day. Captain David Anderson groaned as he massaged his temples. The _SSV Kilimanjaro_ had exited FTL en route to the system's mass relay. The _Kilimanjaro_ had been part of a pirate suppression campaign in the Attican Traverse; it was finally coming home after three months. The crew was tired, but jubilant at their recent string of victories. Piracy was now at an all-time low in the Traverse. He supposed it was worth being so damn tired.

That it had taken the _Kilimanjaro_ three months to complete the campaign was saying something as to how many pirates had based themselves in the Traverse, as well as the size of the territory they had to sweep. The _Kilimanjaro_ was the leading vessel in the Kilimanjaro-class dreadnought design. The only Alliance ships that were bigger were the Everest-class dreadnoughts they were too valuable of a resource to deploy in anything less than a full-on fleet battle. The presence of the _Kilimanjaro_ was almost unnecessary, the flotilla of smaller vessels that drifted nearby being the main source of muscle during the suppression. Anderson supposed it was more of an intimidation factor. After all, no sane commander dared face a dreadnought with anything less than another dreadnought.

The _Kilimanjaro_ was around 800 meters long, with a single mass accelerator cannon for the main armament. This gun fired a 20 kilogram slug that achieved the unbelievable speed of over 14 _million_ kilometers per hour, hitting its targets with a force of 38 kilotons of kinetic energy. This weapon was the most formidable piece of destructive technology in the entire human Systems Alliance. It was an immeasurable honor to be the captain of such a vessel.

He stood, turning to his XO as he did. "Shepard, you have the bridge."

Hannah turned to him and saluted. "I have the bridge captain."

Anderson turned to get himself some more coffee, but paused. "How far along are you?" he asked, having known of her pregnancy for some time. When he had first heard the news, he had wanted to rotate her out for the baby's sake; she had argued, claiming that a little thing like pregnancy wasn't going to stop her from doing her duties. He never had won an argument with his friend before, and it wasn't his day to win one now. Besides, she was one of his best officers; losing her would be a blow to the efficiency of the ship.

She smiled warmly and rubbed her belly. "He's due in about four months. I still haven't decided on a name yet." Shepard looked at the swelling in her stomach. "Maybe Alexander. His father liked that name, said it reminded him of Alexander the Great, one of the greatest military leaders Earth ever produced." She chuckled. "Lord knows he is strong, just like his big brother and sister were. They wouldn't let me sleep with all their kicking."

She took on a wistful look. "Shame I don't get to see them as often as I would like. Ah, well, we're all Shepards. Duty first and all that."

Anderson smiled, both at the name, and at the mention of his proteges. The Shepard Twins were without a doubt one of the strangest pairs he had ever worked with. They bickered constantly, yet refused to be separated, the familial bond between them incredibly strong. John was a level headed man, preferring diplomacy to fighting, but was no slouch in the area of warfare. While on the battlefield, he allowed no emotion to be expressed, and preferred accuracy to blunt force; he was calm, quiet, precise, and methodical, textbook attributes of a talented Infiltrator. Off of the field, he was quite gregarious and had a wide circle of friends. He was often referred to as the Lion of Elysium, due to his role in the defense of a colony from a batarian slaver raid.

Jane, on the other hand, was known for her fiery temper and propensity for violence. A powerful Vanguard, Jane preferred to take the fight directly to the enemy, be it through her powerful biotics, or a well-placed shotgun blast. Jane was fiercely loyal to the people assigned to her squad, often taking great risks to ensure the safety of her team. She was known for being very direct, and couldn't stand backroom politicking. She was very reclusive off the battlefield, avoiding making friends. This could be attributed to the loss of her entire unit on Akuze, where a pack of thresher maws had ambushed them, leaving Jane the only survivor; she had taken their deaths hard, as many of them were close friends. She had made a full recovery, and was now determined to simultaneously protect her men while remaining unattached, so as to avoid the pain should she fail. David truly felt for her.

The two contrasted each other in almost every way, yet still functioned effectively as a unit. He supposed they matched each other, each meshing together to form a cohesive unit. Taken together, they were excellent candidates for what he was grooming them for.

"I'm sure we'll see them again soon. Carry on, Shepard." With that, he made his way to the ship's mess, pouring himself a strong brew when he got there. The few crewmembers in the mess automatically turned to salute their captain as he walked in. He had told them that while he was in the mess, he was just another crewman, but old habits died hard. "At ease."

Anderson settled into a chair and began the long, slow process of going over the various status reports on the operation. Even with paper having been outsourced by the recent technological advances in mass effect field based holographic technology, the term 'paperwork' was still floating around. It was still universally hated.

When his coffee had cooled enough, he took a tentative sip, not trusting military grade coffee. His suspicions were proved as he spat the brew out. He grimaced. Provisions aboard Navy vessels were packed with health and long-term storage in mind. Flavor, not so much. Still, it was all he had, and he needed the boost.

He had just begun to relax when his Omni-tool flared to life, Hannah's voice startling him enough to spill his coffee.

"Captain! We need you on the bridge! Something very weird is happening out here sir! You need to see it for yourself." With those words, Anderson raced out of the mess, moving fairly fast for a man of his age. His mind whirled as she thought about what it could be: vengeful pirates? Meteor shower? A black hole?

He arrived on the bridge in record time. Merely moments before, it had been a bastion of calm and silence. Now it was alive with activity. And he could see why. Black hole was the closest guess.

A massive disk of dark-blue energy had formed where there was previously empty space. It was two-dimensional; from one angle it appeared to be a vertical line. The readouts from various reconnaissance stations highlighted a huge amount of an unknown form of radiation surrounding the event.

"What exactly are we looking at?" Shepard barked out.

"Unknown commander. That thing is giving off huge amounts of radiation." The ensign paused, the report on his screen captivating him for a moment. "Sir! Something is emerging from the anomaly. It...it looks like a ship!"

Anderson's gaze had never swayed from the field and sure enough, a ship had emerged from the portal, if what it did was any indication as to what it was. It was huge, close to 300 meters longer than the _Kilimanjaro_. Its design was unlike any class of ship he had served on. It was blocky and angular, with a pair of large vertically aligned engine pods surrounded by a quartet of smaller pods in the rear. What was more worrisome was the size of its primary armament; the cannon looked like it was meant to fire slugs _much_ bigger than their own. And there were three of them. The overall effect was that of a giant gun meant for space travel. The ship was currently floating lifelessly, several arcs of electrical energy bouncing across the hull.

Anderson picked his jaw up off the ground where he had left it. "Can we identify it? What species built it?"

"Sir, its profile doesn't match up with any known spacefaring race. This might be a First Contact scenario…or not. Sir, look at this!"

The ensign gestured to a rough schematic of the ship, in particular, a patch of writing on the hull. It was written in English. Next to a symbol of an eagle with a shield for a body spreading its wings over a globe was written _UNSC Flame of the Heart_. A banner underneath the eagle-and-globe read _United Nations Space Command_. It was a human ship!

"Have we established contact?"

The ensign replied slowly, still analyzing the data his screen displayed. "No sir. We're hailing them on all frequencies, but we aren't getting a response. Either they can't understand us, can't transmit back, or, for a scary thought, they _can_." The ensign paused for dramatic effect at that, and with good reason. If that ship turned out to be hostile, they didn't hold much faith in a victory. It was much bigger than the _Kilimanjaro_, and had what looked like _three_ main weapons, each bigger than their own.

"Sensors are picking up life signs scattered throughout the ship. Provided they aren't hostile, whatever happened to them must have shorted out their systems. What do we do now?"

Anderson sighed. This day was about to get a lot longer. "Are any of their systems up? We need to know what we're dealing with here."

"We're picking up some slight energy readings, most likely just life support. As far as we can tell, they don't have either weapons or shields up." The deckhand paused, shock evident on his features. "Captain," he said slowly, "I'm not picking up any element zero emissions from the ship. _None_."

This threw Anderson's mind for a loop. _Every_ starship, from every race, required eezo for spaceflight. It was the mysterious mass-altering substance that had given all advanced civilizations the ability to reach out to the stars; and here was a ship now, 300 meters longer than the largest human dreadnought, in defiance of one of the greatest limitations of ship construction. Another mystery on a growing list.

Anderson's mind was made up then. "Bring us alongside, and keep trying to hail them. Meanwhile, I'll bring a team aboard, see what we can find out. If those are humans there, they may need our help." He activated his Omni-tool. "Staff Lieutenant Alenko. Report to the docking bay, and bring a fireteam with you."

The marine replied quickly. "I heard about what's happening, sir. A boarding action?"

"You bet. I'm on my way down now. Come prepared, we may need to cut our way in." Anderson hurried to an armory to get himself equipped for combat, just in case. He also sent a message to the ship's chief medical officer, Doctor Karin Chakwas. If there were wounded aboard the ship, they would need treatment. She had responded in the affirmative, preparing the med bay for potentially injured residents.

Some of Anderson's subordinates were shocked that the captain himself went on missions with the rest of his crew. Those who knew him knew that he couldn't stand being away from his men, ordering them into a potentially hostile situation without being there alongside them. That the captain was willing to prove that he was no better than them, that he was willing to fight and bleed with the rest of them, had earned the respect of everyone that had served under him.

Whatever his rank, Anderson was not a man of inactivity, and he couldn't stand being the oft criticized 'armchair general.' He commanded the love and respect of his peers for this very reason.

David's mind was still buzzing after what he had seen. No eezo emissions whatsoever, and no known ship had working portal technology. This was either a prototype vessel, or something else entirely. His gut was pointing towards the latter. And his gut feelings were rarely wrong.

**Holy crap. Over 1000 views so far. Thank you internetz!**

**Other than that, it's progressing, albeit slowly. Please don't hesitate to leave constructive criticism. I'm sure I screwed up somewhere.**

**In the meantime, I _have_ to recommend some other fanfics that are nothing short of amazing. Adamo, Wings of Fire, Regret and Forgiveness, The Spartan Protocol, just to throw a few names out there. What do all of these things have in common you ask? They all involve our favorite purple-suited quarian.**

**Talimancers Unite!**


	3. The Fall of Reach Pt 1

_**MIA**_

**A/N**

**Hey readers! I'm so sorry for the delay, but I have been under the influence of the bane of Fanfic authors everywhere: writer's block. I just didn't get 'the vibe' from any of my efforts. If you have concerns over the shortness of my chapters, then keep them to yourself. I hate overly short ones as well. Trust me, when I have something worth writing, I'll put it down. **

**This is a story for YOU; I want your feedback as I go along. I'm planning on MIA being a fun story, interspersed with a healthy amount of seriousness, filled with references, memes, nods, all-around ass-kicking, all while Matt and company try to find a way home, whilst being pursued by a human-supremacist group in order to further their slightly-more-than nefarious xenophobic schemes, whilst solving the problems of essentially everyone in the galaxy and their mother…not to mention woo a quarian. *sigh* Matt-514 is in for one hell of an adventure.**

**I'm interested in having a beta, one who knows their lore in the prospective universes. I'm relying on the wikis, my game experience (seen/played all console games in both franchises), and Halo: Evolutions, and prior reading of the Halo novels. I'd like to think that my grasp of proper language structure isn't horrible, and I want someone who I can bounce ideas off of. Anyone interested? Feel free to message me.**

**Disclaimer: I, despite my greatest hopes and dreams, do not own Mass Effect or Halo. That honor belongs to Bioware and 343i. If I **_**did**_** own them, then ******* wouldn't have ****, and don't even get me **_**started**_** on those endings! lulz**

**Let's get to it!**

**(P.S. Wrote this while listening to the Halo 4 soundtrack. Mind=Blown.)**

**(P.S. A point that has been made glaringly obvious by concerned readers has been edited. Those who know about it will be pleased.) **

_**Noble Six**_

On a metal platform at the top of a hill, a lonely armored figure stood. Remnants of past battles were scattered throughout the surrounding plains and ruined buildings, notably the corpses of several unknown Spartans and their weapons.

The figure watched in silence as the world around her burned. High in the sky above her, hovering like colossal purple predators, Covenant ships rained fire and plasma upon the surface of the planet, charring it to glass.

Reach had fallen. And Noble Six was one of the sole witnesses of the tragedy. She stood firm, resolve never shaking as she beheld the fall of Reach. She knew that they were coming for her; Banshees had flown overhead and cleared off, obviously reporting their find: one of the infamous Demons, alone, defiant, and ready for battle. She could see the Phantoms now, disgorging their loads of troops into the field.

This hill would be where she made her stand. This is where she would hold the line. This is where one of the last survivors of Noble Team would meet her end.

The line of Covenant troops advanced, and Spartan-B312 held firm. The Elites took the forefront, not wanting to let the lesser Grunts rob them of their prize. Like a tidal wave of fury, the marshaled forces of the alien collective roared their challenge to the lone Spartan and charged.

"This is for you, guys," murmured the Spartan. She exhaled smoothly, releasing all of her pent up stress and anxiety; it was going to be over soon.

With that, Cassie-B312 ripped the chain gun next to her off of its moorings and opened fire on the Covenant below. The heavy weapon was light in the hands of the Spartan-III as she carried it two-handed, automatically reminding her of her fallen friend, Jorge-052; the big man would be proud of her.

The shields of the towering aliens were no match for the heavy chain gun as they sparked and died. The Elites relying on them were being blown into large chunks by the force of the gun, to say nothing of the unshielded Grunts accompanying them. They returned fire as well, but to no avail. Cassie dodged and weaved between the sizzling bolts of plasma, chain gun never ceasing its lethal barrage. Scores of Elites and Grunts fell to the triple-barreled cannon before it finally clicked on empty. Undeterred, Cassie swung the weapon by the barrel like a club, crushing the skull of a sword wielding Zealot. As the plasma blade fell, she dropped the now useless cannon and snatched the sword from the air. Thus equipped, the Spartan resumed her rampage through the Covenant line, pausing briefly now and again in the cover provided by the husks of burned-out buildings to allow her shields time to recharge.

With each slash, she thought of her team and of their sacrifice.

_Jorge, one of her closest friends on Noble Team, sacrificing himself to detonate a slipspace bomb in order to destroy the Covenant supercarrier._

She removed the head from yet another Elite with a lightning-quick swing.

_Kat, not even given a chance to fight back as she was sniped in the back of the head by a lurking Elite._

She growled as a burst of plasma made it past her shields to splash on her chest. Her armor took the brunt of the damage, but she could feel the intense heat burn her regardless. Cassie then impaled the guilty Grunt upon the two points of her blade.

_Carter, critically wounded and knowing that his time was up, ramming his Pelican dropship into the Scarab that blocked their path._

The Spartan leaped into the air to bring the energy sword crashing down on her opponent's head, neatly splitting him into two even parts.

_Emile, stabbed in the back by a cowardly Elite as he cleared the skies above the _Pillar of Autumn_ so that she and her precious cargo could escape Reach. 'At least he took the bastard with him,'_ she thought. Emile would never have consigned his soul to pass unless he had taken the one responsible for his death with him.

Rearing her arm back, she plunged the crackling blade horizontally into the twin hearts of the Elite in front of her.

Her thoughts took on a slightly happy color as she dwelled on the only other surviving member of Noble Team. _'At least you made it Jun, you lucky bastard.' _She had last seen the bald sniper escorting Doctor Halsey off planet. At least he was safe.

The wounds inflicted by the Spartan were oddly devoid of blood, as the super-hot magnetically contained plasma that made up the blade instantly cauterized the wounds she dealt. Many of the troops previously attempting to kill her had broken off, with all of the Grunts fleeing in terror. The Elites only shook off their losses and pressed forwards, religious fervor boosted by their hubris. They too fell.

Several drop pods containing more sword-wielding zealots fell out of the sky to impact in a ring around her. Cassie found herself quickly surrounded by no fewer than seven of the lethal aliens, as the rest of the creatures held off. Cassie scooped up a fresh energy sword with her right hand, as her previous weapon had run dry, her left hand holding Emile's kukri in a reverse grip. Sparing a quick glance around, she beckoned to the Zealot in front of her with a 'come-hither' gesture. As one, the Covenant Elites rushed her, swords leading the way.

Spartan Time kicked in.

Cassie easily ducked under the first swing, the world slowing as her adrenaline flowed. Emile's-_'No, mine now,'-_kukri punched past its chest armor to bury itself in the Elite's chest in her counterattack. Whipping the knife out of the thing's chest, she fired it right into the maw of another alien. Bringing the plasma sword up in a flash, she blocked an overhead swing, leaving the guilty creature open to retaliation. The kukri found itself a new home as she drove it into the monster's brain.

As Cassie fought, her grief, long buried in the face of her duty, united with similarly suppressed anger, began to boil over. She felt anew the pain of losing her team, her friends, the people who had mattered most to her. This pain, this agony, this _rage_, gave her an inner strength that translated into extra force behind her blows.

"I!"

Cassie somersaulted over a horizontally swung energy blade, using her own to sever the arm it was attached to. Twisting in the air, she caught the Elite in the skull with the kukri, still managing to end up in a forward roll. She came to a stop in front of a new target, which automatically attempted to crush her beneath its cloven boot. The foot never made contact with her, instead flopping to the ground as it was cut off. The alien, roaring in pain, fell heavily, with Cassie springing on top of it, knife first.

"AM!"

The last two Elites worked in tandem, each working together to repulse her attacks. Snarling in irritation, Cassie flung Emile's kukri straight into the mouth of one of her aggressors, dropping him and leaving his comrade open to attack. He lasted a full minute alone before he too fell to her crackling plasma blade.

"A SPARTAN!" she screamed. Exhaustion hit the moment the words passed her lips. She then realized that she had been fighting nonstop for several hours, with little fitful rest beforehand. Cassie knew that even Spartans had their limits; she was now at hers. The vast Covenant army had no such limits, as they were offset by the sheer number of fresh fighters.

The onslaught did not end with the vanquishing of these zealots. More troops flooded in, their ranks only composed of Elites, as the lesser races were obviously incapable of helping, asides from as cannon fodder. Gritting her teeth, the virago resumed her rampage. Elite after Elite fell to her blade before it finally sparked out, its battery spent. A blast to her back from an alien's Concussion Rifle shorted out her shields and threw her on her face, cracking her helmet's visor. Unfazed, she translated her forward momentum into a somersault, tearing off the now useless headgear and coming up with her trusty MA5B assault rifle. She stalked towards the offending Elite, who had dropped his rifle for his blade. The rapid-fire stream of bullets mowed down the Elite charging towards her before he could close the distance.

Another of the saurian creatures attempted to run her through from behind, but instead was floored as Cassie bashed him in the face with the butt of her rifle. Stopping to execute him with her pistol, Cassie took a quick breather, only to have more plasma singe her through the armor. Her shielding unit had long since been fried by the constant strain.

Breathing heavily, she turned to deal with the incoming threats. The female Spartan accurately began to hip fire her rifle as drew her pistol in the other hand. Both weapons dropped more of the offending aliens before a lucky Elite rushed in and shoved her onto her back. Cassie's weapons fell from her grasp as she landed heavily. As the monster rushed in to impale her with his energy dagger, he received a quick boot to the chest for his efforts as she launched him off of her. The aliens were rapidly closing in, ready to end the Demon.

One struggled to pin her arms, but Cassie slammed her elbow into the thing's jaws with enough force to shatter its shields and crush its mandibles. The thing flopped backwards, stunned, but as Cassie struggled to stand once more, the alien she had kicked gripped her arms and forced her back down. The creature growled at her in its incomprehensible language as she fought to free herself. One Elite clad in the ornate armor of a Fieldmaster stalked forwards, plasma dagger hissing and sparking. He raised his arm, prepared to deal the final, deadly blow. Cassie met the alien's eyes in a final show of defiance, drawing comfort knowing that she had done all she could, and then some. _'I guess this is it. What a way to go.'_ A calm she had not known in weeks had settled over her; it was finally over.

The Elite roared, hoping to get a final reaction from the downed Spartan, but was rewarded with nothing; she was unmoved by the creature's display. But as the Elite began to plunge the dagger downwards, everyone was surprised by what happened next…

**Reviews are greatly appreciated. In less polite words, PLEASE REVIEW MY STORY!**


	4. The Fall of Reach Pt 2

_**MIA**_

**A/N**

**Hey readers! I'm glad some of you liked the last chapter, and I hope you like part two even more, as this is where canon is chucked out the window for Noble Six, luckily for her. Anderson's boarding mission will be coming up once I finish the Fall of Reach Arc.**

**I own nothing but this story, and a few of the original characters. All of our favorite soldier rejects belong to our beloved friends in Roosterteeth. *hinthintwinkwinknudgenudgeBo b'syouruncle***

_**Noble Six**_

As the Elite prepared to skewer Cassie on its plasma dagger, a strange sound reached the ears of all present. This noise was something highly unusual, and one Cassie had certainly never expected to hear again. The alien on top of her cocked its head to the side, and grunted in what must have been confusion. _"Wort, wort, wort?"_ Had she not lost her helmet-and with it, her translator-she was fairly certain that she would have heard the Sangheili equivalent of "What the hell is that music?"

A very _loud_ brand of Mexican polka music was rapidly approaching. Her eyes widened; there was only ONE group of people she knew listened to Los Dos Laredos Acordeones!

As the music reached its apex, she was greeted with the all-too familiar sight of the affectionately named Chupathingy soaring through the air. With a startled cry, the alien holding her down was struck head-first by the three-ton jeep, and the one poised to kill her received a full dose of buckshot to the face, turning the alien flesh into pulp as it passed two feet over her head. The customized troop transport hog came to a crashing halt beside her. Two heavy machine gun turrets were mounted on the back of the jeep on either side of the entrance to the troop bay; both were operated by Spartans, who proceeded to open up on the surprised aliens. A rather large pair of rocket pods were welded to the rear and bottom, which allowed the jeep to attain temporary airborne status. All in all, this was truly a one-of-a-kind jeep. And Cassie had helped build it.

From the back poured a small army of Spartan-IIIs in an odd mix of either a red or blue Mjolnir armor scheme. The Spartans began to suppress the nearby aliens with varying levels of skill as Cassie lay winded. Epsilon Team had arrived.

"Yeah! Now that's what I call ridin' shotgun!" crowed a crimson-armored Spartan sitting in the passenger seat. The southern man had so much red tape on his file, even _he_ didn't know his first name. Thus, everyone just referred to him by his rank: Sarge.

"Suck it, Covies!" called another Spartan in maroon armor, Simmons-E407.

Epsilon Team was another squad of Spartan-IIIs that had been stationed on Reach for the past few years, ostensibly for routine training exercises. Before she had been assigned to Noble Team, Cassie had spent some time among their ranks; it had been an…entertaining experience, to say the least. Collectively, the team had the worst combat record of any Spartan, save perhaps the rather infamous Spartan-II, serial tag 1337. But while they may not have been the best of the Spartans, their augmentations had placed them above the rank-and-file troops of the Corps. However, their bumbling antics and all-around clumsiness had deemed them unfit for active combat duty. But still, a Spartan was a Spartan was a Spartan.

A pair of boots entered her field of vision. "Hey sweet cheeks, you need a hand?" Cassie looked up at the proffered armored gauntlet. The voice that came with it belonged to a Spartan in teal armor; his name was Tucker-E906, and was something of a hopeless womanizer.

Cassie gave a weak grin as she grasped his arm. A plasma grenade went off nearby, causing Tucker to snap to attention. "Come on, we can have our reunion party later! Get in the Chupathingy!"

Supported by Tucker, Cassie stumbled to the jeep and collapsed in the back. "Alright team, saddle up! The Chupathingy waits for no one!" Sarge yodeled. The assorted members of Epsilon Team filed back into the customized troop hog, each covering the other with their weapons until all teammates were accounted for. Immediately, the orange armored Spartan driving the jeep floored the accelerator, hurtling from the engagement, and what had been up until a few moments ago, Cassie's execution.

As the war cries of the Covenant faded away as the distance between them stretched, the full realization hit her: She was alive. She had won. The members of Epsilon Team were all slapping each other on the back, congratulating themselves on an operation that _hadn't_ failed for once. Cassie decided to speak up.

"So guys…" All heads turned to her, save the driver, Grif-E604, who was more interested in keeping the Chupathingy on the road. "Thanks for saving my ass back there. How did you guys know where to find me anyway?"

"Blame your friend, Jun," said another Spartan, Allison-E754. "We picked up a transmission from him a little while ago as we were heading to the evac transport. He was asking for help locating the last members of Noble Team. Since the Covies had blown up our way off-world, we decided to go and get you. Church picked up on your IFF, and we showed up to save the day."

"Church?" Cassie asked.

"Say my name?" A white hologram of a Spartan carrying a sniper rifle materialized on Tex's upturned hand. "Resident smartass artificial intelligence at your service."

"He's the newest addition to our team. Command put him in charge of our training sims soon after you were reassigned," explained Sarge.

"Yeah, as if watching you assholes shoot TTRs at each other was such wonderful fun," Church snarked.

The group chuckled collectively, then simply made idle small talk, catching up on the lost times. Even though she had been only a temporary part of the team, they had grown close. It was hard _not_ to like the quirky bunch.

The Chupathingy dutifully made its way to wherever the Covenant wasn't, the Spartans manning the turrets keeping a sharp eye out for any incoming aircraft.

After an hour of driving, Cassie asked, "So where are we going?"

It was Church who replied through her radio, with her having been given a spare helmet, an identical copy of her former Operator helmet, oddly enough. "We're holed up in a big ass cave system about two miles out from our current position. I detected some kind of metal construction deep in the tunnels. Now, who do we know that has a habit of leaving ancient ruins buried deep underground?"

"I don't know their name, but Dr. Halsey found something like that buried underneath Sword Base. The data from those ruins was what the rest of Noble died getting off planet for," she remarked bitterly. One of the more amiable Spartans, a youngster named Michael-717, patted her shoulder in sympathy.

Church continued. "Well, the alien race that built 'em were called Forerunners. The Covies worship 'em as gods, and practically all of their tech is based off of their technology. Adaptive, not innovative, is what comes to mind. With few exceptions, they haven't bothered to even try and upgrade their gear, claiming that 'the instruments of the gods are flawless in design and require no improvement', or some shit like that."

Cassie nodded. "That explains why they were so hell-bent on clearing us out of there. So that's the plan? Hole up and wait until we all die by glassing?"

That statement sobered the mood rather quickly, and made her feel like quite the ass.

"Sorry…" she muttered. "I just lost my new team. Some of them were close friends. I'm a little on edge."

"It's okay, Cass. We don't blame you." Allison rapped the top of her helmet. "Besides, you got your old team back. Once a member of Epsilon, always a member of Epsilon."

She smiled under her helmet. Epsilon Team, for all its quirks, certainly was loyal to each other. It was good to be back among friends.

"We got a bit of a camp going on there. We'll take a look at your injuries when the fat one isn't bouncing our ride around so much."

"Hey! I resent that! Reach doesn't exactly have paved roads around here, y'know." Grif was rather well-known for his unhealthy snacking habits. His augmentations kept him from being outright fat, but he was the only Spartan to even come close. "Oh yeah, and we're here now."

Cassie could see the cave entrance ahead; it was easily large enough to hold the bulky jeep. Grif drove right in and kept going, the headlights illuminating the rear wall. She could see the wide mouth of a tunnel ahead; he aimed for the hole and continued, slowing dramatically to avoid scratching the paint. After a series of twists and turns, the jeep came to a halt in a wide open area.

"Alright Spartans, pile out!"

The eight Spartans that composed Epsilon Team filed out, Tucker supporting a dead-on-her-feet Cassie. She personally thought that he must have been trying to score points with her. Poor guy.

Epsilon was composed of some of the best and worst Spartans ever trained. On the top of the scoreboards were Allison, who preferred to be called Tex, after her place of birth, and David-E510, who also was nicknamed after his home state, Wash. Those two had put forth the most effort during the exercises, and it showed. Wash was a great tactician and team leader, not too shabby with a rifle either.

Tex wasn't much of a leader, but on the battlefield, she was in class all to herself. Her CQC prowess, marksmanship, infiltration tactics, and all-around badassery, as she like to call it, had more than earned her the title of hyper-lethal vector; Tex and Cassie had shared a friendly rivalry during her stint with the team.

On the opposite end of the spectrum was…pretty much everyone else.

Sarge and Tucker were the best next to Tex and Wash. The southern man's obsession with using his shotgun was legendary, and Tucker had a real knack for bladed weapons; he rather enjoyed prying plasma blades out of the dying hands of Covenant Elites and turning them on their former wielders. If he could stop cracking crude jokes about 'using his sword', he might actually qualify for active duty. As it was, his big mouth had kept him firmly rooted on Reach.

Michael showed promise; the Spartan had taken very well to the augmentations, and as a result, he was freakishly strong. The real challenge lay in getting him angry first; he was, by nature, just a big lug; a bit dim-witted, but lovable. The others had taken to calling him Caboose, because he was 'at the end of the crazy train.'

Donut-E865, Simmons, and Grif fell into the next tier. They were competent, but were nothing really special. Donut didn't particularly enjoy fighting; Simmons was brilliant, but lacked common sense; and Grif was almost-but-not-quite fat and his laziness was legendary.

For all their eccentricity, they were friends, and Cassie was glad to have been a part of them once. Now it looked like they were shaping up to work together once more.

The cavern was wide and open. Several floodlights illuminated a sort of makeshift field hospital. Opened tent flaps revealed several cots, most of which were taken. Soldiers and civilians alike were groaning in pain. A pair of figures were scurrying about, tending to the wounded as best they could. One of them was a Marine with a Red Cross armband, the other an ODST in his matte-black BDU. The polarized helmet had a pair of initials carved into the back of it: '_J.D._'

Simmons called out, "Hey, Doc! We got ourselves a patient for you. Exhaustion and a severe plasma burn to the chest."

The medic looked up from his patient. Franklin 'Doc' DuFresne was the only non-Spartan member of Epsilon, providing dual services as a field medic and as a counselor. He always was a calming element of Epsilon, preferring that the team talk their problems out instead of shooting each other…invariably, the arguments always ended up being taken outside, where the Tactical Training Rounds and the rifles waited. Then, when the team had expended all of their violent energy, Doc would patch them up of any injuries they may have sustained.

"I assume that this is one of the Spartans you went out to get?"

Cassie nodded slowly. "I'm the last one. The others…they didn't make it."

Doc's face fell at that, but perked up almost instantaneously. "Well, at least we got one of you poor souls out alive. Come on, let's get that burn looked at. James, grab my kit."

The ODST nodded silently, then hurried off to locate Doc's medical bag. Cassie stumbled onto a cot inside of a tent and proceeded to remove her armor as best she could. When the ruined chestplate was about to come off, she paused, remembering an old habit whenever she removed her armor around Epsilon Team. "Tucker. I have a pistol."

There was a sound of armored boots scuffing the floor as the Peeping Tom in training stumbled away from the slit in the medical tent. "Aw fuckberries!"

"Tucker, for the last time, I am not open! Scram!" she snapped, exasperated. Tucker's flirtations were the main source of comic relief during the training, and both Cassie and Tex had been on the receiving end once. Following the initial flirts, Tucker had crawled away with a voice several octaves higher than it had been originally; didn't stop him from trying though, the man was persistent if nothing else. Right now, she was just in too much pain for his antics.

She hissed as she pried the melted metal chunk off of her chest. Hopefully Doc could work up a miracle, otherwise this was going to leave an absolute bitch of a scar. The armor now piled haphazardly at the foot of the bed, Cassie tried to relax as Doc administered the anesthetic. The burns had proven more severe than was previously thought; melting titanium alloy and human flesh didn't mix well, so Doc was forced to put her under until he was finished patching her up. The sleep that overtook her was some of the best she had received in weeks.

For now, she was safe, and among old friends.

**Fourth chapter! Hope you love it! Internet cookies to anyone who can figure out how I gave the RvB cast their serial tags. A whole truckload of cookies to the person who guesses the alias of Mr. J.D…**

**Laz out!**


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